Victoria refused to be concerned. She had won and was going to enjoy life. She had another birthday. Now she was twenty. It was not such a happy birthday as the last one, but she could congratulate herself that she still had her dear Lord Melbourne.

She threw herself wholeheartedly into entertaining her royal guest, the Grand Duke. What a charming man and such an expert dancer! He taught her to dance the mazurka – ‘Very Russian and exciting. One is whisked round as in the waltz,’ she told Lehzen afterwards. ‘Alexander does it magnificently.’

It was all very gay and if entertaining foreign visitors was always like this she could not do enough of it.

‘It is so good for me,’ she told Melbourne.

‘It might have the opposite effect,’ replied Lord Melbourne.

But for once she did not agree with him.

She thought a great deal of the Grand Duke and wrote in her Journal: ‘I am really quite in love with the Grand Duke. He is such a dear, delightful man.’


* * *

The Duke of Wellington and Lord Melbourne remained anxious about the Flora Hastings affair for Flora still languished in the Duchess’s apartments at the Palace, growing more and more like a wraith every day, a general reproach to everyone, and in particular to Lady Tavistock and Lady Portman. The latter had recently miscarried and everyone said it was due to her remorse about Flora Hastings, for it was very unpleasant to think that one’s conduct could be hastening someone to the grave.

The Queen was uneasy too and to comfort her Lord Melbourne insisted that Flora was pregnant after all.

‘We shall see,’ he said, with a look of wisdom, and Victoria tried to believe he might be right.

Wellington decided that at all costs they must rid themselves of Conroy for without doubt he had been the instigator of the Hastings drama. But for him it would have been just a matter of suspicion, a little gossip followed by the doctors’ exonerating verdict. The Hastings family, of course, had done the harm, but it should never have been allowed to reach a stage when it was possible for them to act as they had. So, they must most certainly rid themselves of Conroy. The Duke would work on him. He should have the pension he demanded; the peerage he asked could be promised him.

‘Whether he ever gets it would be another matter,’ pointed out the Duke, ‘for it may well be that you, Melbourne, will not be Prime Minister when the Irish peerage promised him is available. And as it will be you who promised it, another Prime Minister might not feel himself obliged to give it. It seems likely that at the next election, which surely cannot be long delayed, the Whigs will stand down for the Tories and then it will be Peel’s affair.’

Melbourne agreed with an ironic smile that one of the matters he would be most willing to place into Peel’s competent hands was that of Sir John Conroy.

‘So, rid ourselves of that mischief-maker we must,’ said the Duke and, as he went into the fight as though it had been Waterloo, he succeeded.

It was with great joy that Lord Melbourne was able to call at the Palace and tell the Queen what had been arranged, and that Conroy would shortly be leaving.

What a pleasure it was to sit and chat with Lord Melbourne again in the blue closet!

The only flaw was Flora Hastings, who was growing steadily worse.

‘I visited her and she was so ill,’ said the Queen. ‘She made me feel quite wretched. I never saw anyone so thin; she was like a skeleton but her body is so swollen that she looks as though she were pregnant. I hear she is very sick.’

‘Sick!’ said Lord Melbourne with an ironic smile.

‘She must be very ill to look as she does, but she took my hand when I offered it and said she was grateful for all I had done.’

‘She always had a mordant sort of wit.’

‘I think she meant it. She looked at me as though to say: “I know I shall not see you again.”’

‘Your Majesty is too tender-hearted. That woman has caused you a great deal of trouble. Shall we talk of something else? I do know more pleasant subjects.’

‘Such as?’

‘That dress you are wearing is very beautiful.’

‘Oh, do you like it? It is rather nice. What do you think of the Grand Duke?’

‘Agreeable.’

‘I confided in him about that dreadful Peel. Was that unwise?’

‘Unwise but natural.’

‘Oh dear!’

‘But I doubt it will blow up to a major affair now that Conroy will no longer interest himself in Palace affairs.’

‘It will be sheer bliss to know that he is not there.’

Then Lord Melbourne began to talk of long ago Palace scandals and how Lord Bute had tried to rule young George III as Conroy hoped to rule her. He was amusing and while he talked pulled his hair about making it rather untidy, which, as she confided to her Journal, ‘made him look so much handsomer’.

The rejoicing at Conroy’s departure was dampened by the departure of the Grand Duke. The Queen wrote in her Journal:‘I felt so sad to take leave of this dear amiable young man whom I really think (talking jokingly) I was a little in love with.’

Victoria was planning another ball when a note was brought to her from the Duchess. Her mother wished Victoria to know that Lady Flora was very ill and the Duchess believed that people would not be very pleased if the Lady Flora were to die while the Queen was gaily dancing at a ball.

Victoria shuddered when she read the letter. She had thought a great deal of Lady Flora; she could not forget that emaciated figure stretched out on the couch looking like a skeleton, her yellow skin drawn tightly across her bones – and that fearful protuberance of the stomach. Sometimes she dreamed of Lady Flora and she was filled with remorse.

So when Lord Melbourne came she showed him the Duchess’s letter and asked him what she should do about the ball.

Lord Melbourne considered for a while and said that this might be one of the rare occasions when the Duchess was right. So the ball was cancelled.

Lord Melbourne adroitly led the conversation away from Lady Flora and it worked round to Sir Robert Peel – a not very happy subject in itself but not so depressing as that of Lady Flora, of course, because in spite of criticism the Queen believed she had acted rightly in his case.

‘Neither he nor Wellington appeared at my levée, I noticed,’ she told him. ‘I think that was rather rude of them.’

‘I don’t think they meant to be rude,’ said Lord Melbourne.

‘I think Sir Robert Peel is a very foolish man.’

‘Well,’ protested Melbourne, ‘he is considered to be a very able statesman. He has been responsible for many reforms and the people think highly of him, even those who oppose his politics.’

‘I think he is foolish to behave like this. It makes me dislike him.’

‘It’s certainly ill-judged of him,’ agreed Lord Melbourne. ‘But he is not so accustomed to dealing with kings and queens as I am.’

‘Do you have to deal with them in a special way?’

‘Most certainly. Some of them have very uneven tempers.’

So now they were laughing again and it was very pleasant.

Lord Melbourne then began telling her stories of Uncle William’s testy behaviour on more than one important occasion, and she quite forgot to be uneasy about Lady Flora.


* * *

Then a very disturbing incident occurred.

The Queen had come to Ascot for the races and it was a very brilliant occasion. She was aware during the ceremonial drive that the people were not as vociferous as usual, in fact looked a little sullen. How tiresome of them! They made her feel so uneasy when they behaved like that. Lord Melbourne had told her that George IV had been afraid to show his face on some occasions because the people not only were silent, they booed and jeered. How unpleasant! she thought. ‘The mood of the people is like the uncertain glory of an April day,’ said Lord Melbourne. ‘All sun one minute and rain the next.’

She was thinking of this as she rode along bowing and smiling to the unresponsive crowd. And then – as she took her place in the royal stand she heard the cry: ‘Mrs Melbourne.’

She flushed hotly and began to tremble. Mrs Melbourne. What were they suggesting? But she knew full well.

The cry was taken up. It sounded like a deafening roar. ‘Mrs Melbourne!’

There was nothing to be done but pretend she had not heard, but she could not enjoy the races; she could only think of getting away from those wicked people.


* * *

‘Mrs Melbourne!’ she told Lehzen. ‘They called me that.’

Lehzen said: ‘Everything you do is noted. It’s talked of and often exaggerated. He has apartments at the Palace. He dines here almost every night. And of course this affair of the Bedchamber Ladies … They are saying that the reason you made it impossible for Peel to take office was because you wouldn’t part with Lord Melbourne.’

‘But Mrs Melbourne!’

‘Yes, Mrs Melbourne,’ said Lehzen a trifle severely. She wanted to be first in the Queen’s estimation and did not enjoy taking second place even to the Prime Minister.

Lord Melbourne called as usual. He had been at the races and had heard the hisses and boos and the epithet hurled at her. She was never one to hide her feelings so she asked him at once what he thought of it.

He shrugged it aside with his usual elegant ease. ‘People will say anything.’

‘I believe I know who started it. It was the Duchess of Montrose and Lady Sarah Ingestre.’